


Again, Again, Again

by pretty_mr_sanders (shipit)



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anger, Angst, Break down, Crying, M/M, Multi, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:33:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipit/pseuds/pretty_mr_sanders
Summary: "I love you so much, you make me forget what hating myself feels like."





	Again, Again, Again

They’re all playing board games when Morality says that he loves them all. Quickly, it becomes a contest to see who loves the rest the most by one upping each other’s ‘I love you’s, all ridiculous and light-hearted, Anxiety stays mostly silent, until he quietly says, “I love you so much that you make me forget what hating myself feels like.” He doesn’t think they’ll hear him, but they all do.

Suddenly, Ann stands up and hurries out of the room to go to his. He shuts and locks the door, sinks to the floor, and puts his head in his hands.  _Why’d you have to say something like that? God you’re so clingy. You bring them down. They won’t love you anymore now that they know that you’re so awful, even **you**  hate yourself. Worthless piece of shit. _Normally he has the others around, and they distract him from the thoughts swirling in his head, but right now, he’s alone with his self hatred and all the voices telling he fucked up again. Again. Again. Again.

He shrugs off his jacket and goes over to his vanity, where the top left drawer is home to his best friends and worst enemies. He opens it slowly, revealing his box cutters and deconstructed pencil sharpeners and pocket knives. The blades stare at him like forlorn old friends, and fit neatly between his fingers when he picks one up.  _Do it. Do it because you’re that much of a fuck-up. You deserve the pain_. He lifts the metal up and stares at the light gleaming off of its smooth surface. Even though he’s been so good lately, and the scars have started to fade into his skin, he wants to do it. It would be a relief and it would remind exactly where he stands. Where he needs to stand.  _You’re weighing them down._

 _“_ I know!” Anxiety yells at his empty room.

His attention is back on the metal. He brings it down slowly and presses the sharp tip into the fragile skin of his forearm. Eyes shut. Lip between his teeth. Hand frighteningly steady. Ever so slowly, he drags the blade across. Pain stings in its wake, followed by a trail of bright red blood beading up. Whatever had been restraining him is gone, and he does it again. Again. Again. Again and again until his arm is a mess and his blood stops rushing in his ears and he can hear the other three outside the door.

“-Worried. Unlock this door Ann, please. I will break it down if I have to.” It’s Logan’s voice, uncharacteristically emotional.

Ann drops the blade in horror, realizing what he’s done and what he can’t hide. He curls in on himself and pretends he can’t feel the blood soaking into the shirt he borrowed from Prince.  _You’ve stained it. Just keep fucking everything up, don’t you? Enjoy this ruined shirt because they’ll never so much as look at you again._  

Then there’s a loud thump and the unmistakable sound of Roman cursing. He threw his shoulder against the door. He does it again. Again. Again. Again. The door bursts inward, hanging crookedly on its hinges now. Morality, Logan and Prince start to rush in the room but freeze. It’s painfully obvious what’s transpired. The carpet is a soft grey, but it’s been stained with dark drops and a blade with blood tracing it’s sharp edge. Anxiety has his arm pulled into him but it doesn’t disguise the mess he’s made of it. Numbly, Logan walks forward and picks up the blade. His eyes flick between it, Anxiety, and the still open drawer. He picks up the rest of the items in the drawer, holding them carefully so as not to get cut into the by the blades, and walks out. Not a single word passes his lips.

“Let me see, love,” Roman says softly, reaching forward. Ann jerks away from the touch and finally starts actually crying. Hot, salty tears drip down his face.  _You’re broken. They’re here to break up with you. “_ I’m not mad, I promise. Can you please show me?”

Ann doesn’t offer his arm, but relaxes it so that it’s not so tightly pressed against his stomach. When Roman tries to pull it closer, this time he isn’t stopped. Hesitantly, Anxiety tilts his head up to look at Morality.

Pat has his hands covering his mouth and nose, shaking with inaudible sobs and obvious tears staining his cheeks much in the same way Ann watches the blood drip down his forearm again. Again. Again. Again. He made Morality cry. Not happy tears from pride, or tears from laughing too hard, but tears of anger, sadness, pain. It only solidifies the thought in Anxiety’s head that he’s ruined everything,

“Hey, Mo, can you go grab the first-aid kit from my room?” Prince asks calmly, eyes still on the carnage in his hands. 

Nodding, Morality stumbles to his feet and out of the room. Down the hallway and through the open doors, Ann hears Morality throw up. He winces and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Ann, love, I need you to look at me.”  _He’s going to tell you that they all hate you._  “Please.” Ann manages to look up and meet Prince’s wide, glossy eyes. “How long has this been going on?”

He has to count how long he’s been alive, and then subtract the few years where it wasn’t so bad. “Five years. I’ve been getting better though, and I know I’m disgusting and you probably hate me and ifyou’regoingtobreakupwithme _pleasemakeitquick_ -”

“Slow down. You’re not disgusting. Nobody hates you and we’re not going anywhere. We’re just upset that you’re hurting and we didn’t notice. We love you, Ann.”

As if on cue, Morality appears with the white box of first-aid supplies. Roman, used to taking care of his own battle wounds, knows the most efficient way to clean out Ann’s arm and bandage it. It takes a few minutes, several blood stained antiseptic wipes, and some gauze wrap before Anxiety’s properly cleaned up. Roman and Pat help him get out of his bloody shirt and clean the dried blood from his torso before giving him a clean tee shirt. 

Roman says he’s going to go check on Logan, leaving Morality to pull Ann into his lap and cry into his hair, apologizing. “W-why are you sorry?”

“For not noticing that you were hurting, and not stopping you when you ran off, and not protecting you, and-”

“None of that’s your fault.”

“It’s not yours either.”

They sit there for a long time before Princey returns. “He wants to be left alone for the night. And no, Ann, he isn’t upset at you, don’t worry. He’s just mad at himself.”

The three of them go to bed, Roman and Morality on either side of Ann, holding him tightly. Although none of them will admit it readily, they all wept for hours before sleep came.

And on the other side of the house, Logan didn’t sleep or cry all night. He just stared sadly at the bloody blade in his hand and tried to make sense of all the thoughts going through his head. It’ll be a long, long night while he tries to understand his guilt, anger, and sorrow at what someone he loves so deeply had done to themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is coincidentally also pretty-mr-sanders


End file.
